


some other wolf come to devour me;

by thedarklings



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Blood and Injury, Complicated Relationships, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Love/Hate, Protectiveness, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-26 16:41:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18183134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedarklings/pseuds/thedarklings
Summary: “I’ve wanted this for so long.”





	some other wolf come to devour me;

"Welcome home."

The smell of blood and dirt nudged you back into consciousness. There was a familiar ache at the back of your head, and a throb in your lungs when you inhaled deeply, a groan rattling from deep within your chest.

The last thing you remembered was Faith's soft giggles as she danced around you in a Bliss induced gaze. You've been liberating one of her shrines when a Peggie managed to doze you. Distantly, you had wondered what happened to Jess and Peaches but Bliss had taken hold mercilessly, making everything else fade away. Drugged and cursing Faith’s name to high heavens, you had stumbled around for what had seemed like hours.

You never realised just how close you had gotten to Jacob's region before it was too late.

And he was always, always waiting for you to cross the line.

You often wondered if he had cameras installed around the mountains like Dutch did around his island. Wondered if the moment you stepped foot in his territory he saw it as a personal challenge to take you in. The hunt always began, and he always won.

Groaning again, you pushed yourself backwards, your back hitting the cage bars with a dull thud. Your vision swam and you shook your head slowly, cracking your neck. There was that distinct glow to your surroundings you now associated with Bliss, and your mood soured when you realised Jacob was squatting in front of your cage.

His head dipped—almost lazily—and you sucked on your split lip as you both stared at each other in silence. If there was one thing you appreciated about Jacob, it was that unlike his brothers and sister, he always kept his distance. Not that it mattered. He had a way of sucking the air out of a room whenever he stepped into it, and if he walked into your line of vision, there was no way to escape that harsh scrutiny of his.

"No mouthy comments this time, huh?" he drawled eventually, tone soft and quiet; and not at all like you were locked in a cage, not at all like he and his family hounded you daily.

You knew he was referring to your last run in. You had come back to Whitetail Mountains right after dealing with John and his cronies at Fall's End, and if there was anyone in the whole of Hope County that could get under your skin, it was John Seed.

You had been a storm of raging fury at the unfairness of it all. At the fact that despite your belief help would eventually come, it had been weeks without any contact from the outside. No help, no support. You were truly on your own.

" _No one is coming to save you._ "

It seemed like Joseph was right about one thing, at least. The memory of the chopper crash was as vivid as the memory of waking up and slamming against Jacob's cage. You had snarled at him like a wild beast—bitter and furious after seeing the torture John had inflicted upon few Resistance fighters, simply to draw you out—while Jacob stood there, stone-faced and silent.

"Heard you've been givin' my siblings' trouble again, little lamb," he said casually, gaze hard and unmoving. "Someone's being an overachiever, aren't we?"

For a brief second, you closed your eyes, leaning your head back against the cold bars with a light chuckle.

"Not my fault you Seeds are so damn needy," you rasped, clearing your throat slightly, and glancing at him from under your lashes. You flexed your trembling fingers slowly, heart fluttering. You knew what was coming, and you could feel the anticipation starting to bubble in the pit of your stomach. "Thought you could enjoy the peace for a while longer, old man."

Jacob's head tilted slightly as he observed you and you held his gaze evenly. That was the thing about Jacob—he was a man of few words, but the ones he spoke carried enough weight to cut into you.

His scrutiny was almost unbearable sometimes. It was like he saw the ugliness buried deep within first, and humanity second. Nothing more than a slab of meat to be put to the test and if you survived, if you excelled, then you were worth something. It was unsettling how much power he had, how much control he exerted over others.

Almost involuntarily, your gaze flickered behind the oldest Seed sibling to look at Pratt who stood obediently behind Jacob. You remembered a man full of bravado, but Jacob had gutted and stripped Pratt of that pride with terrifying quickness.

"Mhm, don't get me wrong now," he grunted coldly, standing up to his full height. He stared down at you and the weight of his gaze felt almost physical, making you bristle at the natural gut instinct to bare your teeth at him. It was hard to breathe with him so near and you swallowed heavily, tasting blood on your tongue. "Others are usually cryin' and begging by now. It—uh, makes for a nice change to have some quiet. You seem calm though.  _Focused_. Good. Maybe..."

He trailed off, looking away for a moment as he hummed softly under his breath. Gritting your teeth, you waited for him to continue but he only stared at you silently. You often wondered what he saw. Someone weak and exhausted? Or someone...

"Maybe  _what_?" you bit out harshly after a long stretch of silence.

Jacob's mouth twitched in a mockery of a smile; stiff and cold, distinctly forced too and without any true humour or joy behind it. You silently wondered if he even knew how to smile genuinely anymore. If any of them did.

"Maybe, Deputy," he muttered knowingly, stepping right up to your cage. "You  _enjoy_  it. Maybe you like the bloodshed more than you care to admit. Hm. Maybe next time I'll get your friends all together. See how quickly you kill them instead. See if you still have what it takes or if you're just another silly lamb without purpose or significance."

You stood up slowly, soreness and lingering Bliss in your system making the action harder than it should be. The ground was soft beneath your feet as you walked up to him without hesitation but he didn't seem surprised—he only seemed pleased, as always. Your forehead pressed against the cage bars, and you were so close you could feel the heat from his body sinking into yours as you glared at him.

"I will kill you," you promised him gently, ignoring the shiver that raced down your spine when he leaned closer, his blue eyes burning. "It will happen by my hand. I promise you  _that_  much Jacob Seed."

His lips twitched again, and he brushed his thumb over the music box in his hand.

"Brave little lamb, aren't you?" his voice rumbled quietly between you and he leaned down until you were face-to-face. There was nothing soft in his gaze, nothing kind, but the ever-present interest burned brightly as always. That terrible dark curiosity that was so very dangerous.  "We'll see if you're still so brave after your friends are all dead. And they  _will_  die, Deputy, I promise you  _that_."

The music box opened, and you felt  _Only You_  wash over you like a tidal wave of devastation. The world bled and  _bled_ , blurring around the edges, but you refused to drop your gaze from his till everything went black.

The real nightmare was about to begin.

**. . .**

The world was on fire; bleeding, gushing, falling to pieces around you.

" _Cull the herd._ "

**_Bang. Bang._ **

" _Not bad_."

You ran and ran, lost in a maze of death and decay.

" _Faster, or your friends will be next, little lamb. Tick tock. Tick tock_."

Rage burned through you like poison. Faster, faster, faster. They're not human. They're—they're—

**_Bang. Bang._ **

" _Good. Keep moving._ "

Your lungs were burning. Red and more red everywhere you looked. A growl of a wolf somewhere behind you.

The crunch of bones in your ears,

blood,

blood,

 _r a g e_.

The final shot; always the quickest, always the deadliest. No hesitation, not this time.

" _Excellent_."

He sounded so  _pleased_ , and you hated yourself just a little for feeling  _proud_.

**. . .**

The world was silent, cold, lifeless.

Then there was the heat of the sun against your cheek, the chirp of bird song in your ear and lastly the smell of dirt and blood in your nose.

Light burned behind your closed eyelids and you rolled on your back, muscles trembling and sore. You tried not to look at the bodies. You never looked at the bodies, not anymore. The guilt was too much. Deep down you knew it wasn't a choice, that it was survival plain and simple and you weren't truly at fault. You were simply the deadliest monster around.

Echoes of Jacob's deep voice lingered in your ear and you rolled over on your other side in disgust, banishing any thought of the man away.

You were going to cut out his presence, his voice, straight out of your being. You had no choice any more. He was becoming too dangerous. Too captivating. Too...

"Stop it," you hissed harshly, running your tongue over your teeth in agitation. "He's the enemy. T-They're all—"

You were going to protect the people of Hope County, and if that meant sacrificing yourself to bring the Seeds to justice then so be it.  

You stumbled on your feet, leaning against the nearby tree for support. You were in a forest. It looked somewhat familiar and looking around you knew you were still in Jacob's region.

The radio crackled to life and you almost groaned in annoyance. Couldn't they just give you one moment of—

"That was impressive work, little lamb."

Your breath hitched, heart fluttering like a hummingbird in your chest. Your eyes moved towards the dead bodies littering the ground almost expecting Jacob to manifest from thin air.

Your shoulders slumped, a dull ache of guilt against your heart feeling like a stone dragging you  _down, down, down_ —

"What do you want?" you gritted out angrily, your finger hurting from how harshly you pressed the receiver button. "Called to gloat?"

"I'm not John," he rebuked firmly, a hint of irritation melting into the low baritone of his voice. "But had I known threatening your friends will elicit such a...response. Well, consider my interest peaked Deputy."

You swallowed down the rage climbing up your throat, and pressed the radio against your lips, "Go to  _hell_."

A rumble of breath—perhaps a chuckle—filtered from the other side of the radio, "I'll see you very soon, little lamb."

Not a threat.

A soft, hauntingly eerie promise.

You hated your heart for the tremble of anticipation at those words.

**. . .**

You’ve been shot.

The pain was hot and thick, numbing your leg as you staggered through the forest blindly.

But something was wrong. You had no idea who your hunters were. They weren't John's or Faith's, and you certainly recognised Jacob's Chosen by now. 

You had been scoping out a new area all day. The most eastern edge of Jacob's region that was scarcely populated, allowing you and Peaches to roam mostly unbothered. The sun was just starting to set when a buck had raced past you, and you had given Peaches the go-ahead to run and hunt dinner. The cougar had run off at once, hunter instincts on high alert when she disappeared in the trees.

You hadn't seen Jacob in two weeks, focusing solely on Faith and John to keep yourself occupied. But the Whitetails have called you last night, Eli practically begging for you to come and help them out. It seemed like without your presence, Whitetails were starting to lose ground again, pushed back by Jacob's ruthless hunts.  

There was a degree of worry associated with being back in Jacob's region though. Things always took a turn, and you always found yourself back in his cage no matter how fast you ran. Going up against Faith and John felt like going against someone on equal footing. With the oldest Seed sibling, any degree of higher ground quite literally evaporated around you. He stripped you down to bare instincts and exposed you like an open nerve.

A part of you hated him for it, and another part of you felt like you should thank him. You were a new person—quicker, deadlier, more efficient. The person you were before felt like a distant dream. You had been ordinary once; painfully normal, in fact. Now, with every inhale, every beat of your heart, you felt like you could crumble the world beneath your heel. You took everything Jacob's trials thought you and turned that knowledge—that rage—onto his family. And you were getting very,  _very_  good at tearing apart all they built.

So the last thing you expected was a bunch of hunters to get a drop on you like that. They must have been trailing you because the sniper very purposely shot you in the leg instead of somewhere more vital.

Their loud cheers had reached you quickly but you didn't hesitate anymore. Two of them were dead before they managed to get their hands on you. The bullet had gone clean through though, causing you to bleed heavily as you tied an old shirt around your leg, hurriedly dropping your gear. You couldn't afford to call for Peaches in case you put her in danger, and from the sounds of it, there was more of them coming your way.

You could not fight efficiently, and you would bleed out before they were all dead—assuming you could even overpower them while bleeding out in the first place. Their sneering, hooting words sliced through the air. Mocking. Harsh.  _Eager_.

Fear curled in your stomach while they searched for you, narrating how much fun they were going to have when they found you.

They weren't cultists and they sure as hell weren't Resistance. So who were they? Was there someone still left in Hope County who was neutral in this conflict? You didn't know and didn't care to stick around to find out. Not when their words sent a shiver down your spine. Not when you had killed two of them already. Not when they shot you seemingly for  _fun_.

Darkness had fallen swiftly and you weren't sure how much further you could keep this up. They were surprisingly persistent and you were still bleeding. Dizziness blurred the edges of your vision, and your thoughts were starting to slow down to a slog.

You stumbled against a tree, your sweaty forehead pressing firmly against the bark.

Blood loss.

At this rate, your body was going to kill you faster than the hunters. You had a slight lead, the cover of darkness helping you to keep ahead and them searching. But eventually the blood trail would lead them to you and you knew you had minutes at best.

You couldn't—

Reaching blindly, you searched for a weapon—anything to arm yourself with. Even if they were to run you down, you weren't going to die a coward. You had dropped most of your weapons and gear to make it easier to move quickly but you still had your pistol and knife. You refused to be weak, you refused to cower, you—

Your radio.

 _Oh_.

It was terrible. How quickly the idea sliced through your muddled mind; like a hot knife through butter.

You had never used the radio to contact anyone outside of Resistance before, certainly not the Seeds. Sure, John loved nothing better than to bother you at all hours of day and night like he had nothing better to do with his time. You never replied though, and it had become therapeutic in a way; a routine, to hear the Seeds over your radio.

There was no one around for miles though.

Whitetails would never make it on time and—

The radio was slippery in your hand, your throat dry and fingers quivering. You couldn't believe you were even contemplating this. If anything he was more likely to come and finish the job himself...or was he?

Your hands trembled while you held the radio to your lips, hesitating. Maybe it would be nice? Even if he was the enemy, it was still better than being completely alone.

With that thought in mind, you pressed your hand against your leg, the click of the radio a soft hiss before you whispered a hesitant, "Jacob?"

Silence greeted you and you waited patiently for a reply that refused to come.

Groaning softly, you slumped against the tree, ears straining to hear where your hunters were. "Jacob, you there? I need—"

"Little lamb," the radio crackled, the low baritone of Jacob Seed's voice filling your ears. "What a pleasant surprise. Wasn't expecting ya back so soon. Eager for more?"

You couldn't help but chuckle weakly, rolling your eyes in relief. Not alone. At least there was that.

"Jacob," you murmured weakly, and you could hear the palpable relief in your own voice. "Jacob," you exhaled softly again, unable to force any other words out. Your leg throbbed and a bead of sweat trailed down the back of your neck.

"You're injured."

Not a question.

Just a cool, critical assessment.

"I—Jacob."

"Where are you?"

His cold, stark voice was surprisingly comforting, surprisingly soothing. Maybe it was his tone. All the Seeds had a gift for speech, as much as you hated to admit it.

There was a far-too-close whistle in the distance and you tensed, gritting your teeth. Shifting uncomfortably to alleviate weight on your leg, you lifted the radio to your lips again, your head lolling to one side.

"Jacob, I need—"

"Where _are_ you Rook?" his voice was chilling; a rumble of tightly coiled energy that made the hairs at the back of your neck rise. Your eyes fluttered shut and you swallowed, readying yourself to give him as much information as possible.

"There you are!"

A bright light shone in your face and you gasped, pressing your back against the tree.

Game over.

You lifted your hand, covering your face as three shadows moved just beyond the beam. First, mocking mumbles and then quiet snickers followed, making your blood chill.  

" _Rook_ —"

Forcing down a bitter chuckle, you let your finger brush against the receiver, breathing only one word to your enemy, " _Please_."

You never did get to hear his reply.

**. . .**

You didn’t come back slowly, mercifully.

No, you came back all at once, and the ache of your body made you groan in subdued agony.

Senses jumbled, and a dull gaze clouding your vision, it took you another few moments to become fully coherent.

“Nice nap, hm?”

Jacob’s soft words might as well have been a cold bucket of water being dumped over your head.

Instincts screeching danger, you scrambled immediately, only to curl in agony when an intense pain shot through your leg. You hissed through your teeth, fingers ghosting over your bandaged thigh.

That made you pause, your breaths short and strained as your eyes flickered around the room you were in.

You laid on a tiny but clean cot, still in your old clothes with the exception of new pants. The room itself was small, dark, only a dull lamp illuminating the haunting edges of Jacob Seed’s figure as he sat on a chair opposite to you, elbows resting on his thighs as he observed you silently.

Even though he sat hunched and appeared completely relaxed, he still seemed to loom, squeezing the already small space around you till the room felt even smaller. His presence always did that though, so you weren’t exactly surprised. The dim light illuminated his powerful frame but it was hard to gauge his expression from your spot.

He had—

You couldn't believe it.

That he had actually come for you, had dragged you to what you now recognized as St. Francis and bandaged your leg. But the blood loss—

“H-How?”

Your voice felt tiny and you clenched your fingers into tight fists, willing the strength, the steel, to come back to you.

He shifted slightly in his seat, and your pulse spiked. He was dangerous. He was so,  _so_  dangerous and you didn’t trust your own strength right now. If he decided to kill you, you would not last long. Though you knew, logically, that he would not go through the bother of saving you just to kill you now. Or maybe he would. Maybe he was even more twisted than you knew.

“I was a real popular guy in the army, ya know?” he spoke conversationally, like you were two perfectly normal people having a perfectly average conversation. “Being a universal donor and all.”

If there was such a thing as fate, she was a  _real mean bitch_  for doing this to you.

Constantly struggling between right and wrong when it came to the Seeds was one thing.

Putting you in a position where you now owed one of them your life was another. The sheer knowledge that right this second Jacob’s blood was pumping through your veins made you feel simultaneously cold and hot all over.

“Why?” you whispered, pushing yourself into a sitting position.

You tried to hold back your groans of pain but it was hard work. Your leg throbbed and you swallowed heavily, never dropping your eyes from Jacob’s still body.

“Joseph wants you alive.”

 _Wants_ , not  _needs_.

Which implied a far more intimate interest in one's well being.

Though you suppose it made sense. No matter how far you ran, Joseph Seed’s shadow and his great and terrible vision for you and his family always seemed to follow.

You had reached an impasse of sorts with them.  They were terrible, and you would bring justice to the people of Hope County, but you didn’t hate the Seeds like you expected. Others hated them, truly, and you understood their rage—understood how the need to survive, to protect what’s yours, made them so desperate. You hated what the Seeds  _did_ , hated that they  _chose_  to do it, but hatred for them individually was hard to come by.

So whenever you found yourself smiling or rolling your eyes at one of John’s tantrums, you told yourself that it was because he was acting like a lunatic and not because he was funny. When Faith took your hands and danced with you in fields of Bliss flowers—happy and bright—you told yourself it was the Bliss affecting you, and not the need to run away from the crushing responsibility and death.

When Jacob—

“C’mon, I have a present for you,” he said, interrupting your thoughts and you stared at him mutely. “Move, little lamb, I don’t have all night.”

It was then, when he slightly shifted his body to stand, that you noticed his hands for the first time.

His knuckles were raw and bloodied like he had been punching something hard for hours. The flesh looked sore and swollen, only accenting the length of scars trailing up his forearms. Something in your gut told you that you already knew how he got those bloodied knuckles.

He stood to his full height, and you forced your breaths to steady till it no longer felt like you were only a breath away from him. He always felt too close, even though he was the one who kept the biggest distance between you.

“John didn’t get it by the way,” you spoke faintly, watching him pause near the door, his rigid back to you, expectant. “The memo about Joseph wanting me alive. He’s been out for my blood since day one.”

Jacob huffed—a deep sound of cold amusement—before he glanced back at you, eyebrows twitching in irritation to still find you in the cot. “You’d be surprised,” he replied flatly, jerking his chin towards the door, “Move, Deputy. Because I have no problem with throwing you over my shoulder and carrying you myself.”

“Romantic.”

He turned to you impatiently, lips working into a slight frown at your sarcastic rebuttal. Good. This felt too... _intimate_. You hadn’t expected him to come for you, or give his blood to save your life, or dress your wound for that matter. And even though you had never seen him angry—frustrated, irritated; sure—but never angry, not really, you wanted it  _now_. Anger would remind you of his siblings, of the Resistance, and it would be easier to deal with him.

Standing was difficult. You weren’t used to this type of immobility. Sure, you had your own share of burns, bruises and scars—a startling number of them appearing after you came to Hope County—but barely being able to stand was new. Foreign. And damn uncomfortable.

You tried to put as little weight on your leg as possible as you hobbled after Jacob silently.

There was a part of you that contemplated wrapping your arms around his throat and trying to take him out that way. Except you were injured, weak, and you weren’t sure you could take out someone like Jacob in melee combat at such close distance.

Every step he took felt measured and well thought out—a hunter’s confidence, clear and sharp. He could snap you in half with barely a thought, you knew that. So you assumed a little gratitude for saving your life would not go amiss here.

“How did you find me?”

Casual conversation with him had always felt too treacherous so you rarely engaged in it. If only because you found the way you could understand each other from few words unsettling; and the last thing you wanted was to deepen that easy connection with him. Once, Jacob had implied an understanding from one soldier to another. An appreciation, practically  _an_   _ease_ , born from the fact that on a deeper level one predator recognised another.

You hadn’t always been like this though.

He had forged you into something deadly with his own hands.

And maybe he was right. Maybe a part of you hated being weak and helpless so much that this was simply easier. It was survival. In the end, it was just  _that_.

He didn’t look back at you when he replied, his steps slow but still far too large to make keeping up with him comfortable, “Is that a serious question? I know every inch of my region, little lamb, and my Chosen were already patrolling the nearby area. Keep up.”

Suppressing a snarl, you staggered to a stop, resting your palm against the rough, cold surface of the wall, “I’ve been shot, give me a damn break.”

He stopped at those exact words. You knew it was a wrong thing to say to someone like him. Jacob didn’t believe in weakness of any kind, and you doubted he would care much for your complaining now.

He turned abruptly, cutting the distance between you in two steps. He was suddenly  _right there_. Hard muscle, height and grim focus that almost made you squirm. Almost. The heat coming from his body made you shiver, distinctly reminding you that nights up North were more chilly than down South, even during summer months. He still hadn’t touched you, you noticed silently, staring up at him without blinking.  

“A  _break_ , little lamb?” he spoke coldly, and there was an underlying tone of mockery in his deep voice. “Maybe you should have been smarter and not gotten shot, hm? What do you think about that?”

“You’re disappointed.”

He scoffed and pulled away sharply.

It stung more than you expected. You shouldn’t really care about his opinion. Accidents happened, mistakes happened, but…

But.

You could suddenly recall Pratt’s quivering words with sickening clarity, “ _You—you don’t understand! You’re special, Rook. H-He has plans for you. You’re the only one who can do it._ ”

The visits, the hunts, the neverending scrutiny—Jacob had always paid close attention to you. You had chalked it up to Joseph and his ramblings about you being special, important to their plans, someone to be kept on their radar at all times. Now you weren’t so sure.

Everything he had ever done to you had made you stronger, not weaker. Arming you for their destruction.

Why would he do that?

You had realised a while back that there had to be a reason for the trials, for the conditioning; some sort of deeper purpose you weren’t seeing. When you really thought about it, the answer seemed obvious.

He was creating a legacy. He was moulding you into something he would be able to wield against those who were opposing the Project. But this was  _Jacob_. You knew he was aware what double-edged sword that was. By making you stronger, he was only assuring his own ruination. So why,  _why_ —

_Oh._

“Keep movin’, Deputy, you’re wasting my time,” he bit out again, and the undercurrent of irritation made you grit your teeth. He had some nerve. What was so urgent? Hunting people? Brainwashing them? Cultist daycare?

Planning his own death?

His words were always so biting and cold; a constant reminder that you were a tool, a means to an end. Just like he was. Like he chose to be every day. Just another way to create distance, to fuel your hatred for him, so when the time came you would not hesitate.  

You felt sick.

Stumbling after him, you almost wanted to reach out and touch him, demand to know what he wanted from you  _really_. If only to reassure yourself that you were wrong. That he didn’t expect you to take his life but…

The conversation you shared two weeks ago flickered through your mind, and you felt even sicker. The lack of rage when you promised he would die by your hand. The almost relieved acceptance that had been so minute, you had missed it then.

Did John and Faith—even Joseph—expected the same from you?

No, John was driven by his purpose—however twisted and misplaced—and the need to see you atone. But why? What did it  _matter_? You were  _The Sinner_  in their minds. And Faith...she told you her story, shared detail after painful detail. You never let it get to you, reminding yourself over and over that she was trying to manipulate you, make you sympathetic to their cause. And it did to a degree but never enough to deter you from your end goal.

Joseph saw a vision of a future you never thought to delve deeper into. The last thing you needed was him in your head when he already had such a pull.

Jacob though—Jacob who always saw himself as the shield, the expendable one, who had no purpose other than to protect the Project or die trying.

He was a soldier. And he wanted to die by a hand of someone he found worthy. And who better than his own protégé?   

Afterall, you were his masterpiece, his crowning jewel, an accumulation of all his hard work and training. He had remade you into a lethal weapon, and you would have blindly hunted him down and put a bullet in his head when the time came.

Even now, although he was facing away from you, his head was still slightly tilted in your direction: listening to your footsteps.

Did he care then? Did he feel some form of attachment to you as well?

He wasn’t a man controlled by his emotions, you knew that very well, and he would carry out his duty regardless of his own feelings on the matter. Because that’s what good soldiers did—they  _obeyed_.

You were going to throw up, and it had nothing to do with your shot to hell leg.

Jacob paused by what you could now see was a rickety staircase leading down into the basement.

“Shouldn’t you buy me a drink first?” you questioned sarcastically, but your voice was frayed around the edges and you knew he noticed.

He tilted his chin, but you pointedly ignored his drilling stare. He would write off any irregularities in your behaviour to heavy injury and a close brush with death; it was only natural.

“You need to learn how to watch that smart mouth of yours,” he pointed out stonily as he began descending the stairs. “It will get you killed sooner or later. We’re almost there, little lamb, keep moving.”

Positive encouragement.

Even now—even after you…

Jesus, you needed a moment to compose yourself. To think this through properly, comfort yourself with the thought that clearly you were just blowing this way out of proportion.

The stairs were agony though, plain and simple. No matter how much you strained your muscles to minimise the exertion, it was nigh impossible to fully keep the pain at bay. You were a stealthy fighter by default, so hearing the heavy thud of your own footsteps was as good as a knife in your chest.

Jacob was almost at the bottom, and you wanted to say something but the pain was too great to form sentences around it. Beads of sweat clung to your forehead and you swiped your hand angrily across your brow, hissing at the aching burn that shot through your leg.

Just three goddamn steps and then the ground. And yet, nothing had ever looked more unreachable in your life.

Your fingers trembled around the metal railing, steadying yourself and your hissing, laboured breaths with it. That’s the only reason you didn’t react till it was too late.

An arm—all muscle, strength, and warmth; scalding and devastating all at once—wrapped around your waist. There was a suspended second of weightlessness and heat before you were lowered to the ground with a gentleness that choked the breath right out of your lungs.

And then the arm around you was gone—security with it, his heady scent too—and you were left barely standing, stupidly, moronically,  _missing_  it. The contact only lasted a few seconds at best but one touch and everything suddenly felt electrified. Thrilling.  _Dangerous_.

Jacob’s broad back was to you when he opened the heavy metal door with a forceful groan, seemingly completely unaffected by the moment.

“Come on in, Deputy, your present awaits.”

Despite it all, you still hesitated at the threshold. You knew very well what Jacob was capable of, and while you didn’t think he was out to kill you—if nothing else, you believed Joseph’s command to keep you kicking long enough to fulfil your divine purpose, whatever the hell  _that_  was—he still posed a frightening threat.

But you weren’t a coward, and whatever fear you may have once harboured had been strangled and ripped right out of you by the very man standing beside you.

That’s why despite the unease, you still stepped into the room. As weak and as exhausted as you were, this was clearly important enough for Jacob to drag you through half the compound.

The scent of copper and thick, suffocating fear struck you first.

You paused for a second—just the single second because you knew Jacob would not allow for anything more than that—and stared at the three figures blankly. They sat in a neat little line; feet and arms chained, their faces a bloody, ugly mess.

You didn’t need to ask who they were, you already knew.

They groaned, shrinking and squirming in fear when Jacob stepped into the basement behind you. The door slammed shut and the finality of it made you uneasy. At least now, you had a confirmation that Jacob had dealt with these men personally.

It surprised you, however, the physicality of it all—the sheer act of tearing into someone like that, and without restraint. It was something you would have expected from John who delighted in bloodshed a little too much. Jacob, for all his raw strength and physical prowess, always chose to do his battles psychologically. That control, that calm, had always been chilling to observe and experience.

“Well, I suppose introductions are in order,” Jacob began, almost pleasantly, though his voice lacked any kind of warmth. “These men right here, little lamb, are hunters.  _Real_  tough guys. Wondered into Hope County just before we collapsed the tunnels, causing all sorts of problems for us till John got his hands on three of them. Suffice to say, they weren’t very,  _hmm_ , cooperative, shall we say.”

He didn’t need him to clarify a damn thing. You knew very well what John did with those who didn’t cooperate.

Jacob’s gait was slow, leisurely almost, while he walked towards the men and you were distinctly reminded of the first time you met. When he gave his crappy PowerPoint presentation, explaining how their world had turned soft and weak. Back then you thought him full of shit and a downright straw nihilist. You knew his opinion of you wasn’t much better either.

But that was then.

“Been so quiet ever since that little parade that frankly, I’ve forgotten all about ‘em,” he continued steadily, but you heard the slight change in his pitch, the dangerous edge seeping in. He was a predator on a hunt and the men shrank, cowered, because they knew they would find no mercy here. “Then they come slinking into  _my_  region, thinkin’ they’re  _the shit_  and causing  _me_  problems. Now I can’t have that, can I? The weak have no place in this world. Cowards, even more so. Now they’re probably thinking that their other friends are coming to lend a helping hand, but you know what? I don’t think so.”

“They’re dead.”

It slipped out without you meaning to say it. There was a moment of suspended silence and then you learned that Jacob could, in fact, chuckle. Even though the sound was wrapped, sharp and tearing around the edges—a mockery of genuine amusement—it still rang loud and clear, bouncing off the metal walls loudly.

One man, the one on the left, and the one closest to you, glared at you like you were a demon from hell. Jacob though—

Jacob moved towards you, power rippling through his hard muscles and scarred face drawn into a contemplative expression. In his eyes, however, burned a potent mix of pride and something entirely too wild. Something too savage to be anything other than raw hunger, no matter how well hidden and buried. Maybe you never saw it before because you never bothered to look. Only survival had mattered back then. That, and hatred.

Funny how few hours and can change someone’s perspective like that.  

“Very good, Deputy, very good,” he praised, the timber of his voice genuinely pleased and perhaps a touch surprised. Which was telling in and on itself. Clearly, as far as he knew they just took you out, made a mockery of the training he put you through, which was a personal blow to his pride. Suddenly his bloodied knuckles made a lot more sense. “Now we can move on to why you’re here.”

He beckoned you closer and you moved without a second thought, coming to a stop in front of the chained men. Jacob stood behind you but something uncomfortable still churned in your stomach while the men stared at you. Their hatred was clear and you tried to block out their phantom voices echoing in your ears.

“See men like them have only one purpose,” Jacob told you patiently, self-assurance practically radiating off him. His voice was close though, so close you could almost feel him leaning over you. “ _Meat_. A sacrifice. And now, I’m going to give you a choice. These men hunted you, almost killed you too, and you will choose their fate. ‘Cause that’s what always happens, isn’t it? The  _hero_  gets to choose, and I sure hope you make the right choice here Deputy.”

Jacob’s voice softened, a deep murmur right against your ear and you swallowed heavily, seeing the naked fear reflected in front of you. The men were already whimpering and pleading in wet, rushed babbles for  _mercy, please, I don’t want to die—_

“Did I ask you to speak?”

He didn’t even raise his voice; he didn’t need to. Just like that, the men fell quiet and you shivered at the simplicity of it all. At the wicked elegance.

“Now, your choice, Deputy,” Jacob began, all seriousness and coldness, wrapped in a silky smooth voice that drilled into you like needles. Suddenly, you felt his fingers on yours, placing a pistol into your hand, and wrapping your shaking digits around the handle. His breath brushed the shell of your ear as he continued holding your hand, raising it in front of you and straight at the men. “One, two, three. Three men, three bullets. You do what needs to be done. You cull the herd, dispose of the weak. Repay them in kind for the blood they spilt. You show them that there is a price to pay for their arrogance. Then you’re free to go.”

The men squirmed but knew better than to speak this time, although the man on the left remained stoic and still, dark eyes watching you with no small amount of malice.

“Or,” Jacob continued, his hot breath  _right there_ , against the column of your neck, the fragile flesh tingling from the sensation. Why was it so hard to  _breathe_? It was your throbbing leg, and nothing more, you told yourself harshly. Except his callous, hot fingers brushed against yours for a second longer before dropping altogether, leaving your digits feeling oddly barren and cold. “You spare them. Spare yourself. You hand me back the gun, you turn around and you  _walk away_. Leave with the knowledge that they’re now in my care, and I will make them regret ever being born.”   

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he confirmed easily, almost lazily, and then  _fuck, fuck, fuck_ , his hands were right there on your shoulders. And they were so warm that it felt like fire was suddenly licking at your shoulder blades. His thumbs pressed comfortably against the fragile bones and you forced a near painful breath of air from between your teeth. You waited for pain, fear, something that would give you a reason to turn around and try and break his wrists but he simply stood there.

You felt every inch of his palms against your body, his thumbs being the only ones to graze naked skin, and liquid heat pooled in your stomach at the featherlike contact. For a man who had never so much as grazed you before, he sure knew where to touch to make your blood boil. This closeness felt far too familiar, consuming.

He was the enemy, would continue being so regardless of what you chose, although now your perspective on a lot of things had shifted. You needed a new strategy, time to regroup, time to think  _goddamnit_ , which meant getting out of here as soon as possible.  

This heat between you—suffocating, drowning as it was devastating—raged through you with enough intensity to uproot you.

You wanted more—his hands lower; touching more, claiming more.

You also wanted to get as far away from Whitetail Mountains as you could, and preferably never see Jacob Seed again.

Desire was a dangerous, slippery thing. Once it sunk into you, there was very little you could do to shake it.

“That one,” Jacob spoke softly, icily, applying gentle pressure to your left shoulder, and shifting your attention, “That one was rather vocal about things he was going to do to you. Already had his goddamn hands on you and all. Ain’t that somethin’, hm? Come now, I grow tired of waiting. Make the choice, little lamb, pass the sentence. Don’t turn soft on me now.”

You would hate to be an even bigger disappointment.

The gun felt familiar and solid in your hand. Three bullets. One, two, three. A familiar pattern, perhaps too familiar.

Your arm lowered, and you angled your shoulder blades, pulling away easily. The absence of his touch made you feel cold to the bone and your jaw clenched tighter. Why was it that his siblings could hold you and touch you all they wanted with little to no reaction, but one casual touch from him—you weren’t stupid enough to not pick up on the fact that he tried to use physical contact to intimidate you, perhaps unnerve you—affected you so much?   

Slanting your shoulder almost defensively, you turned towards the door, drawing a slow, calming breath. Your choice had been made from the moment you stepped through the door and saw the hunters.

**_Bang. Bang. Bang._ **

They were dead in under 30 seconds. You made habit of watching your time now—often muttering seconds and patterns under your breath while in battle and outside of it. It drove Sharky up the wall but you found comfort in it. Another little tic nurtured into existence by Jacob.

This time your arm lowered with a certain weariness, a weight. It had been quick, at least, and not everyone got that kind of ending nowadays. Taking lives was never easy, or pleasant but…

You looked right at Jacob, lips pursed and jaw clenched as you tried to banish the lingering heat of his fingers from your memory. Easier said than done when he was looking at you like that.

The blue of his eyes had darkened a few shades, reminding you of the ocean before a storm. Still peaceful, deceptively beautiful, but only a few minutes away from unleashing something terrible. His breathing was heavier too, and you could see the way his eyes tracked your every move, making it clear that he hadn’t expected you to shoot them.

“I knew what they were going to do to me,” you whispered harshly, your words raw from suppressed anger and disgust. “They—they told me too. Had their fun hunting me down. They shared all the details of what they’ve done to others as well, like—like it was  _fun_  for them.  _Joyful_. Like killing people—hurting them—was a good thing. You and your family sure as hell aren’t saints but what they did...it was  _beyond_  monstrous. This wasn’t a choice. There was never a choice to make.”  

You forced yourself to hobble closer and held out the now empty gun to him. “You said that if I chose, I’m free to leave. Did you mean it?”

His stare didn’t waver or falter when he took a step towards you, reaching forward to pull the gun from your hand.

“You’re free to go.”

“Just like that?” you repeated again, breathless, because it somehow seemed too easy and nothing was ever easy when it came to the eldest Seed sibling.

His eyebrows drew together thoughtfully before he answered, “Just like that.”

He moved around you slowly, and you knew it was his way of keeping distance. An attempt to keep the situation placated if nothing else.

The basement door opened with a heavy groan and you turned to stare at him. He stepped out without another word, and pressing your hand against your leg, you fought to still your hammering heart as you moved to follow him.

“What about the trials?”

Stupid question. Misplaced, too. But you were still too wary to just trust his word on this. Trust the fact that he was going to let you go—no questions asked or demands made—after everything that just happened.

“When the time comes, you will be collected,” was his flat, emotionless reply. But his gait was unusually tense, and you stared at his back mutely. “For now, you can leave.”

Something about the sudden cold shoulder grated on you. “Because Joseph says so?” you demanded through clenched teeth because  _goddammit_  your leg was still in agony, and you just wanted some painkillers, or anything to take off the edge. Preferably, something strong enough to put this whole day behind you too.

“Because  _ **I**_  say so.”

And there it was. The slightest spike of anger—the type to twist your vocal cords, and turn your words into poison.

Jacob started ascending the stairs but you weren’t done with him just yet. “Why not do it yourself? Why bother with all of that back there?”

He knew what you meant, and when he stopped and looked down at you, you had half a through rattle through your brain that perhaps you were pushing too much. Pain aside, your pride would not allow for such a disadvantage in position, so you struggled up the few steps carefully till you were almost level with him.

“Because I wanted to see what you would do,” he replied mockingly, voice soft, satisfied. “And you didn’t disappoint.”

Of course. Leave it to Jacob to turn this situation into another one of his tests, another lesson to be learned.  _Of course_.

“And?” you hissed, suddenly furious even though you weren’t sure what about, exactly. Perhaps everything all at once. Because all of this was too much, and you felt like you were drowning. “What lesson was I supposed to have learned from this, oh wise one?”

He rounded on you, his expression harsh, but his gaze wasn’t hateful. Not like you expected it to be. “Now you’ve seen what happens to the lone wolf,” he stated grimly, pointing unsympathetically to your injured leg. “Now you see how easy is it to get to you, how vulnerable and weak playin’ the goddamn  _hero_  makes you. I sure hope the lesson sunk in because next time I will leave you to face the consequences of your choices alone.”

And then he was turning away, dismissing you, because he always— _always_ —had to be in control.

Not this time.

Your fingers wrapped quickly around the scarred skin of his forearm and you felt him freeze under your touch. “Thank you.”

_Thank you for saving me, for tending to me, even if on someone else’s orders._

_Thank you for giving me a choice even if it was for your own selfish reasons because no one else ever does._

You didn’t have to say it out loud because there was no need. His eyes turned to you—too fierce, too consuming and so, so blue—and suddenly you weren’t sure if he was going to pull your closer or throw you down the stairs himself.

“Jacob—”

And then you got your answer.

He jerked you to him with such force, you stumbled, losing your footing before you could steady yourself. But that didn’t matter. Jacob’s arm wrapped around your waist like a hot iron band, shoving you against the cold wall behind him. Your legs flailed for a second before you clumsily wrapped them around his strong hips, grinding into him as he dragged you upwards so you were face to face. A hiss of pain rushed through your tightly clenched teeth but he swallowed it with his mouth.

He was like a furnace of heat and desire, and you gasped loudly when he pushed your harder against the wall. His kiss was hard; voracious, and while he was clearly out of practice he was not worse off for it. The shock of what was happening faded quickly, and the raw sensation of his body—hard, coiled muscles holding you up with such ease it made you feel tiny but so protected, desired—clouded your mind completely.

Pressing even closer, you sunk your nails into the back of his neck, a near desperate moan slipping from your lips when he grunted in appreciation, hips pressing into yours.  _Harder_.

His mouth was just as delightful as the rest of him, just as sinful and unyielding under your softer coaxing. You sighed at the foreign sensation of his beard scratching against your lips, helplessly lost in the feverish need to  _claim more, kiss more, touch more—_

Your breaths mingled as you allowed small, appreciative noises to slip between winded inhales of breath. His tongue was hot, his kiss as domineering as the rest of him, his body unmovable around you. You tried to secure more purchase with your other hand but before you could tangle your fingers in his jacket, Jacob’s other hand snapped out, pinning your wrist above your head, squeezing only once in warning.

Part of you felt flattered he didn’t trust you with your hands even now—that despite the situation you were in, he considered you enough of a threat that he actively sought out ways to set precautions.

Your teeth nipped at his bottom lip in revenge, and a rumbling growl reverberated from deep in his chest, the half groan he let out making your lips twitch slightly. He sounded almost angry with you, maybe himself too. His fingers loosened around your wrist slightly, his other arm still comfortably wrapped around your waist when he started dragging his rough fingertips down your arm. His hips jolted against yours and you broke the kiss with a small, breathless moan.

He was merciless and overwhelming, greedy and harsh, and you wanted more even though you knew you shouldn’t. Jacob’s large hand slipped down the length of your body, dragging over bumps and ridges, familiarising himself with the contours of your body. His beard scratched against your jaw, then your neck; impatient, hungry. One second you were breathing heavily, shaky and near dazed, before his teeth scraped against your collarbone and you learned how good it felt to moan his name. The sound seemed to freeze him; hot puffs of air beating harshly against the sensitive curve of your throat.

“ _I’ve wanted this for so long_.”

Truthfully, you weren’t sure which one of you gasped the words out, strangled and wrecked as they were. Maybe both of you forced different syllables out till there was one coherent sentence that could describe this moment.

Words had destructive power though. The moment of passion shattered, tension breaking to pieces, and making reality come crashing down around you. Suddenly, you were excruciatingly aware of your tense, throbbing leg and the way your muscles strained painfully.

Your grip around Jacob’s waist loosened, your legs slipping down with a whimper of pain. His hands tightened around you for a moment, allowing you to clumsily steady yourself on the ground, knees weak and heart hammering. You hadn’t realised your eyes were closed till they fluttered open, the blood rushing in your ears echoing so loudly you couldn’t hear anything else.

He was still holding you, breathing against your neck and you shivered at the sensation.

Fear came first. Fear that there would be a price to pay for what just happened. Because these things didn’t happen without consequences. What was it that Jacob said when you first met? Bill always comes due?

His fingers slowly sank into the soft flesh of your hip after another minute of silence, “One hour, little wolf,” he said sharply, but his tone was strained, pinched. “If you’re still in my region by then, I’ll drag you back and throw you in a cage myself,  _understood_?”

Little wolf.

Your mouth was suddenly so dry you could only nod wordlessly.

His thumb slipped lazily under your top, leisurely swiping across the bare skin of your navel, and making you shudder.

“Is that  _understood_?”

Grounding yourself in reality, and reminding yourself how stupid and reckless this whole thing was, you swallowed thickly.

“Yes.”

You hardly recognised your own voice. It sounded like something wild and untamed was twisting your vocal cords, and you instantly reminded yourself that Jacob’s blood was, in fact, running through your veins.

There was a tiny, insignificant second in which he simply stood there holding you and nothing else.

But then he was gone, leaving you at the mercy of a cold night’s embrace. He didn’t look at you—not even a glance—before he began climbing up the stairs with that all too familiar confidence of his. It was like the last few minutes hadn’t happened to him at all. But you could still feel the pain in your leg, and the sting of adrenaline as it tore through your weak limbs.

Perhaps it would be for the best if you contacted John soon, and asked him to add Gluttony and Lust to your growing collection of sins.

Because despite having a taste, you didn’t feel  _sated_. You didn’t feel disgusted or panicked either. You felt—

You felt hungry for  _more_.

“One hour,” he repeated again, tone low and icy.

Your eyes turned to look for him but he was already gone.

Just like that after all.

**. . .**

You made it out of Whitetail Mountains in under 40 minutes.

A part of you wondered if Jacob was proud. You knew he was watching. And truthfully you still didn’t trust him to not break his word and send his Judges and Chosen after you. So you had wasted no time, leaving the Veteran Center as fast as you could.

No one stopped you, no one got in your way. Besides few threatening growls from the Judges when you walked past their cages, there was nothing. It was like Jacob had called off every single person staying at St. Francis just so you could walk out the front gate like you owned the place.

The usually easy job of stealing a car from Peggies was made increasingly more difficult with a busted leg. But you had managed, as you always do. Your life was in your hands and the clock was ticking.

The sun was starting to rise in the east, bathing the serene Montana landscape in soft light. First rays reflected off the peaceful Henbane river, drawing you closer inland the further you got from the mountains.

Part of you wondered where you would be now if you hadn’t refused to run that errand for Eli. If you had done what he asked instead of scoping out the forest with Peaches, leading to the nightmarish 12 hours you just had.

You wondered what would have happened if those hunters never shot you, forcing Jacob’s hand the way they did. If he hadn’t been coerced to save your life. If he had never kissed you. If you had never kissed him  _back_.

Subconsciously, you traced your bottom lip with your tongue before catching yourself with an angry frown, and slamming your hand forcefully against the steering wheel. Because truthfully you already  _knew_  what would have happened.

You were bound to do exactly what was expected of you: obey. You would have channelled your rage, you would have done as you were told, you would have played your role to  _perfection_. Part of you doubted you would have even questioned your own methods. As long as you  _won_ , as long as the Seeds were dealt with.

And Jacob would have been dead and buried.

Well, you didn’t care much for that path anymore.

You would need time to heal, to  _plan_ , but you were  _done_  playing the blind hero.

Done playing the part so meticulously laid out in front of you.

Jacob didn’t know this yet.

But that was fine.

He would  _soon_.

**Author's Note:**

> So this may or may not have gotten out of hand and lowkey become an analysis on Jacob x Rook dynamic in-game. You can’t convince me that Jacob didn’t know what was coming when he saw Rook excel in his trials. He was _ready_ and like he said himself, _“It was only ever you.”_
> 
> This is my first trek into fc5 fandom (how classy of me to be a year late to the party~~) but if you're interested in seeing more for any of the Seed bros, please let me know! And I'll try to cook up something else. Thank you for reading <33


End file.
